It’s 1991 and a young bolognese couple is returning home on the eve of the Epiphany. It’s very cold and maybe it’s because of the ice on the asphalt or because the driver of the other car worked on Saturday even after a exhausting week, the fact is that they can not avoid it. The other car is on them, catapulting them off the road. I was born during that crash. It was my duty to make something of the extraordinary of my life. I wanted to be a writer, an actress, a photographer, a painter, a sociologist, a director, a curator, a politologist, a strategist, a journalist but then I realized that being an artist today meant being a bit of all this.